Nine | Ollie

New Message: Unknown Sender:
Kit helped me get a cellphone!

New Message: Unknown Sender:
I'm hip now!

New Message: Unknown Sender:

New Message: Unknown Sender:
When are you coming home for dinner? I can cook too, you know? Meat loaf tonight. I was thinking ham and smashed potatoes for tomorrow, but I need to run to the store.

New Message: Unknown Sender:
The barn door is falling off again.

New Message: Unknown Sender:
Did you see Betsy from down the road is getting married? She's such a sweet girl. Her sister is lovely. I should reintroduce you.

New Message: Unknown Sender:
Kit said to send you this 🍆🍑. What does that mean? Is this some new secret recipe you're working on?

New Message: Unknown Sender:
🍆🍑

Christ. Thanks a lot, Kit. I silenced the phone to stop the constant tones from sounding off as the students took their first test. Peering around the room to roughly twenty heads focused on their papers and not on my mother's messages, I tucked the phone safely back into the pocket of my leather jacket, which hung from the chair I was sitting in.

My work at the Culinary Institute was time away from family; time I needed. Now my phone wasn't even safe. I love my mother more than anyone in the world, but giving her a cellphone was a terrible idea, and I could only blame my little sister. I had to give Kit props on the emojis, though; it was funny. Now I had to decide whether to explain this to my mother or come up with a recipe using eggplants and peaches.

The class was a cluster of white coats except one student—one I had been dodging all week—who was wearing a vibrant shade of yellow today. Yesterday it was pink. I was now convinced Sloan was testing every bit of patience I had left. Avoidance was becoming difficult and not really an option. If the entire class had to wear their coats, she did too. The problem was this meant I had to talk to her about it, and that didn't seem like an option either. If I could barely stand to look at her, speaking to her wasn't happening. I preferred she just stayed a yellow blob in the corner of my left eye.

I still didn't know what to make of the situation I was in. Not once did I think I would be in the student-teacher relationship predicament, but here we were. The thought of it made my stomach sour. My mind still wasn't convinced she was just some stranger whom I stumbled upon twice. Sloan herself had even mentioned running into someone twice in Chicago was unheard of. The feeling of being targeted couldn't be shaken.

There of course were stories of students doing this to teachers—tricking them into sleeping with them to get ahead in class—but would she do that? It may have just been a knife skills class, but I wasn't stupid. I was known for being tough on students. And now here I was, allowing Sloan to get away with something solely because I didn't want conflict with someone I had slept with. The repercussions for this would end my credibility with the school.

The pocket of my jacket buzzed consistently with the sound of silenced text messages. I sighed and ran my hand down my face, tired and knowing eventually I would have to answer. Class had just started, and it was the first of the day. The students were only ten minutes into their first safety test. The exams were made difficult on purpose. It got me out of a full hour of teaching.

When the messages wouldn't stop, I gave up. I reached into the pocket and pulled free a pack of Marlboro reds, my father's favorite Zippo, and my cell. The cigarettes and lighter were tossed to the desk, with a wish I could smoke one now as I returned messages to my mother. A paper being slapped to the desk stopped me from adding my mother's number as a new contact. I only looked up in time to see a flash of yellow hauling ass back to her station.

There's no way...

I glanced quickly from a finished exam to the clock that hung on the wall above the door. It had only been fifteen minutes since I handed out their tests. Every other student still had their head down, madly scribbling sentences and appearing utterly panicked... as they should.

My blood boiled. I was heated now, as if in an argument or a battle of wits with the crazy student who slept with her professor. Sloan was only proving me right. If she honestly believed half-assing an exam would cause me to write 'A' across the top just because she had something on me, she was dead wrong.

The message to mom was going to have to wait. It was only a matter of time before she began calling, anyway. I tossed the phone beside my cigs so irritably nearly every head snapped up to see what had caused the ruckus. I gave not one person the time of day; I knew the only person I wanted to stare down at the moment was the one not looking up. Instead, I furthered my commotion by man-handling the top drawer of the desk and tossing the contents until locating a red pen. I used my teeth to uncap it and kept the cap in the corner of my mouth. If I couldn't smoke and didn't have a toothpick, this would have to do.

I was already grinning, knowing she—like everyone else who takes this class—was going to answer the first question incorrectly. The question seemed so easy they always wrote the obvious answer and not the answer I wanted. It's an answer never covered in class but is mentioned in the textbook within a chapter I purposefully skip. My chest became tight when reading Sloan's answer.

1.) Explain the first method of determining a knife has become dull:

I would hold the knife with the blade facing upwards to a bright light. If the blade reflects this light, it has become dull.

She was correct.

I was huffing and puffing while grading the twenty-question exam and spit the pen cap from my mouth after realizing I would not be using the red pen as hoped. It pained me to use it only once, to add an A+ to the top of her paper. Again, I threw open the drawer—this time tossing the pen back to its place—and slamming it shut as more students brought forward their tests. Typically, these were all graded once back in the comfort of my apartment. I was already panicking, wondering if students would notice me only grading Sloan's exam today.

After everyone was finished and collected their belongings to leave for their next class, I was still frustrated. My foul mood had me throwing a tantrum like a child. As soon as Sloan stood from her seat, I was on my feet and ready to square off. Papers flew all over the desk until I reached the one on the bottom of the pile, and I held it up just as she was about to exit the room.

"Sloan, what the hell is this?"

She stopped in her place, and I watched her breathing intensify. She was hugging her books tightly and refusing to turn and face me. I was convinced she had cheated and would not allow her to get away with this, no matter what our history was. No one had ever finished the test this quickly and with perfect marks.

"What's wrong with it?" She refused to face me when speaking.

"I don't put up with cheaters."

"Excuse me?" Her head snapped.

That got her attention.

I stood straighter when her big round eyes finally collided with my glare. She was shocked at the accusation. Maybe I should have been more focused on that, but I wasn't. It was the first time in a week we had looked at each other and the first time since she stormed out of the alleyway we had spoken. She looked exhausted, like she did the first time we had met at the supermarket, but she also looked more put together than she had that day. Her hair was up in a high ponytail with her bangs unintentionally spilling free from it. She wore the slightest bit of eyeshadow today, which she didn't need. Her green eyes still popped without it. And the gold chain necklace she wore plummeted into the V of her shirt to a place I remembered well.

I physically took a step back, hating that I still found her attractive after all this bullshit she was putting me through.

"You heard me." My throat cleared, looking at the exam instead of her. "If I catch you cheating on these exams, you'll be tossed from this class. It's required to graduate. Do you understand?"

The paper was torn from my grasp and Sloan eyed it before returning her angered attention back to me. I wondered if I could handle having her as a student much longer. I had no time for crazy women in my life, and my safe place was becoming anything but safe. The only way to handle this was to stay firm and professional with her. She would not win by holding a one-night stand over my head.

"And while we are at it," I continued, "I've warned you once I expect proper attire in my classroom. I will start penalizing your grade if you continue to neglect your coat."

"I didn't cheat." She ignored my last rant with an eye roll. "You need to get over yourself, Ollie. Some people really do study."

"Bullshit!" I spat, taking the exam back. "And it's chef, not Ollie. I'm not doing this with you. You will not be an insubordinate and get away with this and the coat, solely because we had a night together. You can try to piss me off all you want. It won't work."

Her head shook with utter disgust. She took a few steps forward and dropped her books down to my desk with a loud thud. What crap was she was going to pull this time?

"If I wanted to piss you off, studying all goddamn night isn't what I'd do. I'll happily start with this..."

Horror-struck, I watched Sloan take my cigarettes—the ones that I had been craving all morning. She shook them free from their box and tore the last three in half before tossing them into the trash bin near our feet. Her hands brushed together to rid them of the loose tobacco mess. All I could do was stare at the bin and the tobacco that was spilling free from its rolled paper with self-pity. My mouth was watering to taste the nicotine smell which was now overtaking the surrounding area.

"As for the coat, I'm working on it. Go ahead. Dock my grade, dickhead." With one huff, her bangs flew upwards. Sloan grabbed her books before fleeing the room.

I wanted to storm after her and yell until blue in the face. I wanted a fucking cigarette. I wanted to smash something. Instead, I kicked the small trashcan over in a rage and fell back into my seat to prepare for the next class.

>><<

The ride from the school to Mulligan's Bar & Fine Dining took exactly twenty-six minutes each day. Anyone could jog it and likely get there in less time; although I was never one for cardio, and I enjoyed the rush of being on the Harley. The two places were a Chicago block apart. It wasn't the same as riding it back home where traffic was almost obsolete, but there was also something about the noise of traffic I enjoyed. Horns and cuss words, loud exhausts that broke state emissions laws, various genres of music being blasted through car windows... all of it helped me sleep better at night. It reminded me there were an additional three million people in this city other than myself, and not everything revolved around me.

Today, however, was one of the few days I wished to be back on the farm where I could find silence and would have no one around to bug me. My head pained right between the eyes, a plaguing reminder of my first class today. The institute, my self-proclaimed happy place, was becoming a royal pain in the ass.

The Harley wove between other vehicles with more ease than it should. I was too comfortable on the bike, because it was the only one I had ever been on. It was bulky but, with proper handling, could make pretty tight spaces. Without worry, I took the sidewalk illegally in order to get to the bar as quickly as possible. Just seeing all the cigarette butts on the pavement was making the craving worse. I was practically nauseous by the time I was opening the kitchen door from the alleyway and sweating by the time I had the hidden pack of tobacco in my hands. The downside of driving the Harley was that it never failed to alert Mikah of me being back for the night. The cigarette was barely lit before it was being plucked from my fingers and tossed into the oversized sink.

"I thought you quit."

"Mikah," I gritted through clenched teeth. My headache was searing through eyes pressed tightly closed. My hands were trembling while forcing myself to speak to my younger brother. "I'm not in the fucking mood for this tonight. I'm having a day from hell. Do that again and I'll make sure yours is worse."

Instead of pestering me further, which Mikah seemed to thrive on, I heard the door to the kitchen swing again. I waited a few moments to open my eyes, finding I was once again alone in the kitchen. I must have looked rough if he didn't even attempt to make my life hell on earth tonight. Finally, someone today was taking the hint.

There was a heavy sigh as I stared down at the cigarette box. Quitting had become a joke. I knew, just like everyone else, it would never stick. I shook the box a few times above an open palm and threw it when nothing came out. The only cigarette left in the entire building was now in the sink—soggy and incapable of ever being lit again. There were three hours until the dinner rush, leaving no time to get more.

When the kitchen door swung again, I was ready to argue. The tension of the day had become too much, and Mikah had struck my very last nerve. But when I turned towards the sound, my facial features instantly let go of their strain.

"Hey." Shelby tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear and smiled sweetly. "You okay?"

I blinked a few times before nodding yes and then acted like I was busy being the head chef. The backpack on my shoulder was dropped to the ground near the refrigerator door before I began pulling random ingredients and tossing them to the stainless prep table in the center of the room. Shelby didn't take the hint of wanting to be left alone and instead picked up an eggplant and a peach with a quizzical expression. She was trying not to laugh. I had to admit, Kit got me good today.

"Kit told mom to use the eggplant and peach emojis on her new cell." I licked my lip before forming a smile. "So, I now have the choice of explaining to my mother that she's been insinuating sex all afternoon to her firstborn child or come up with a recipe using peaches and eggplants. Tonight's special will be peach and grilled eggplant Caprese salad."

Shelby's infectious laughter filled the kitchen, causing my headache to dwindle. It was a sound I loved and missed more than anything. Perhaps two people in the kitchen would be okay for a bit. My smile seemed to tell her to make herself comfortable, and she did. Shelby pushed herself up, so that she was now sitting on the prep table. If anyone else did this in my kitchen, they'd be thrown out of here.

She giggled, knowing she was pushing a boundary only she'd get away with. "I was sort of hoping the special tonight was grilled cheese."

My head shook as I grinned even harder. If I had a dollar for every grilled cheese I had made this girl throughout my thirty-five years on this earth, I would be a rich man. Looking up to the beautiful woman, I knew by her expression she was craving one.

"Havarti and tomato?"

"With basil!"

"With basil," I agreed. How could I forget the basil? I didn't; I just liked how offended she became if I pretended to forget. It was our game.

The ingredients were collected and placed on the table beside Shelby, where she watched me carefully craft her favorite food. I knew that her favorite part was when the cheese bubbled and sizzled, and for that reason, I watched her and waited for the smile I knew was coming. And it did. Her eyes fluttered up to mine, causing my chest to ache with the want to pull that smile into mine and kiss her while the food burned. Everything about Shelby, from every freckle to every facial expression, was memorized permanently in my brain. I knew the bracelet on her wrist was a gift from her mother before she passed away, and the sweater she was wearing today was her absolute favorite from a little boutique near the farm in Galena. She loved it so much that I had ordered her three more in the same color because I knew she would spill food on it.

I plated her sandwich and handed it off. She tore it in half, continuing to giggle as the stringy cheese refused to split. One half was offered to me, and I accepted it. It wasn't my favorite sandwich, but I had grown to love them for her. It made many nights easier on us.

"So," Shelby began with a tone bracing itself for conflict. She took a quick bite before needing her teeth to bite her bottom lip. "Mikah said you're moody—moodier than usual."

Of course, Mikah sent her in here.

I bit into the sandwich, tossed what was left down to Shelby's plate, and clapped my hands together to rid the crumbs. And just like that, my shit mood was back. I tried not to roll my eyes at her, knowing it was something she hated, but I couldn't help it.

"He tossed my last cig."

"Ollie."

"What?" I shrugged.

"You're in a terrible mood! Mikah says you have been all week. What's going on?"

My head shook as I walked away. There was no way to explain to your ex that a one-night stand from the bar turned out to be some crazy stalker student. That would be another giant I told you so for Shelby to toss into my face. Shelby had no love for any work I did as a chef or the girls I took upstairs at night. Combining the two would give her enough ammo for a lifetime. The same argument over and over, always the same outcome. She would never understand that I love my work, and every part of the journey until now has been worth it.

I pulled the spinach for tonight's salad towards me and pulled a knife from the block.

"You can still talk to me, Ollie. It's just us back here. Are the two jobs becoming too much for you? Maybe it's time to take a break from the institute. You went from school and work to work and more work at the school. You never stop."

I had no desire to look up and kept my focus on the rough chop of the spinach. "Are we really going to argue about this again?"

"It takes up so much of your time."

"What does that matter to you, Shelby? It's not like you're waiting for me to come home at night anymore. My free time is just that... mine."

Perhaps her frown in my direction was a response to what many of our friends and family would assume was a low blow. But she knew I was right. Her entire argument was invalid once Mikah came from her lips. Now it was because Mikah couldn't handle the bar while I was at work—that was the actual issue. There was no way I would ever feel bad for that.

"Mikah is so worried about you. You're his brother..."

"If Mikah is so worried about me, tell him to come back in here instead of sending my kryptonite. It's a bitch move, and he needs to man the fuck up."

Shelby exhaled loudly as she jumped back to the kitchen floor. "Always a pleasure talking to you, Ollie. Let's have another heart-to-heart in another few years."

She pushed through the door to the bar, leaving it swinging and me alone once more. The headache immediately returned along with the heartache of watching her walk away. Again.